


I See Angels and Devils and God ...

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a spectacularly bad day at the lab, Brass helps Catherine unwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Angels and Devils and God ...

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a lyric in Matt Nathanson's "Come On Get Higher." Listen to the song to get the end of the lyric and why it's so apropos.

“I hate Mondays,” Catherine groused as she climbed out of her Mercedes GLK in the parking lot at Westfall Avenue.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Brass said, raising an eyebrow. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Catherine shot him a Look and he held up a quelling hand. “Just asking. Should I shut my mouth and just stand here, looking handsome and dangerous?”

That got a smile out of her.  “Sorry,” she said grudgingly. “Bad night.”

Brass frowned. “Since you were with me most of last night, I hope the bad part came after I left.”

“I got insomnia after you left,” she explained. “Didn’t sleep worth a damn. And it’s been one of THOSE mornings—couldn’t get my hair right, couldn’t find the right clothes to wear, spilled coffee on my favorite pair of slacks, couldn’t find my cell phone. You know the type.”

“Yeah, I can never find the right clothes to wear,” he dead-panned and was rewarded by a jab in the ribs. “Watch the merchandise, woman, I’ve got an expiration date, you know.”

He steered her to the opposite side of the wicked grey SUV that she’d splurged on after Lindsay had gone off to college and, turning her, began to work the tension out of her shoulders. “We’ve got to roll out in a few minutes,” he said. “419 in Joshua Tree Heights. Let this go so you can focus.”

Catherine nodded, trying to enjoy the warmth of his hands. “I know. You’re right. I’m just … off my game this morning.”

Brass gave her shoulders a vigorous squeeze. “I need you on your game,” he said firmly. “So do your guys. And so does this poor son-of-a-bitch, whoever he is.” He leaned in and placed a kiss on the back of her neck. “You go in first, get yourself together. I’ll be right behind you.” He squeezed her shoulders once more then dropped his hands. “See you after work. Hope your day gets better.”

*

It was Monday all day long, as Garfield would have sardonically noted, and Catherine’s day did NOT get better. It got steadily worse instead.

Greg had rolled his ankle while out with friends the night before and was on crutches, confined to the lab, leaving Catherine short a man. She could have worked her way around it if Ray hadn’t been confined to the lab, too, still recovering from the punctured kidney he’d received at the hands of a suspect several weeks previous.

She still could have worked around it if the 419 at Joshua Tree Heights was the only case they were working. But a jogger found dead by the side of the road just outside of town with tread marks on her body meant she’d have to send two CSIs out to process the scene. With no other choice left to her, she paired Hodges (who was still in metaphorical diapers when it came to field work) with Sara, knowing that she’d get an earful from Sara later, and took Nick up to the Heights with her.

The satellite radio in the Denali wasn’t working. It would have been a minor annoyance that she could have taken in stride if the rest of the car didn’t seem so determined to start malfunctioning at the same time-- the right rear tire blew out on the way to the scene, an annoyance neither Catherine nor Nick really wanted to deal with. By the time they got to Joshua Tree Heights, well behind Brass and Super Dave, they were both sweaty and scowling.

“Jeez, Nick, who pissed in your cornflakes?” Brass asked with a raised eyebrow as they walked up, gear in hand.

“The damn Denali. It blew its right rear tire … AGAIN. Second time in a month!” Nick frowned at the body partially submersed in the koi pond. “Aw, hell, we’re going to have to move the fish and drain the damn pond, aren’t we?” His scowl deepened. “Man, I hate ponds.” Muttering to himself, he started photographing the body in situ while Dave looked on.

“Spreading the good cheer around, I see,” Brass said, sidling up to Catherine.

“This is _your_ fault,” Catherine countered, her eyes on Nick.

“I don’t see how.”

“I don’t either. But I want to blame someone and it might as well be you.”

Brass chuckled. “You’re awfully pretty when you’re in a bad mood.”

“Screw you,” Catherine responded, half kidding, half serious.

“Any time, any place.” He touched her arm, sobering. “Take a couple of deep breaths, Cath. There’s only 24 hours in the day and you’re all ready through …” he looked at his watch … “nine of them.”

“Hey, Catherine!” Nick called. “He’s missing a bunch of teeth. Looks like they were punched or knocked out. Want to take a guess at where they are?” He gestured at the pond, where he was all ready hip deep in water.

Catherine groaned.    

***

By the time she got home that night, Catherine was ready to strangle someone, jail time be damned. The scene at the koi pond had been painstaking, back-breaking, and had lasted well into the afternoon. She and Nick had returned to the lab far later than Sara and Hodges who, far from being at each other’s throats, were getting along famously and taking a leisurely lunch with Greg and Ray.

Brass’s car was in the driveway and the lights were on in the living room. She hoped fervently he’d either cooked or brought dinner because she was too exhausted to make anything more complicated than a sandwich—and even that, at the moment, felt like it would take too much energy.

She laid her scene kit and purse on the decorative table in the foyer and headed directly for the mud room with her scene-wet clothing, coveralls, and shoes. After starting a load of laundry, plugging in her cell phone to charge, and setting the alarm, she had just enough energy to slog upstairs, intent on falling into bed.

“Jim?” she called, dragging herself up to the second floor landing. “If you want to see me while I’m still upright, you’d better get your ass out here. Once I’m on the bed, I’m done for the night.”

A cloud of steam and Brass’s throaty chuckle wafted out of the master bathroom. “I’m guessing your day didn’t get any better.”

“My day,” Catherine said wearily, “fucking sucked.” She leaned against the wall, eyeing him as he stepped out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

Brass looked like he wanted to laugh but seemed to be thinking better of it. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Red. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear like that before.”

“Let me TELL you about my mouth, Captain Brass,” Catherine smirked, leaning in to kiss him.

“I’d rather you showed me,” he responded, tangling his hand into her hair and pulling her close. “But that can wait,” he said when they broke apart. “Not long, but it can wait. Right now …” His hands found the button on her slacks. “ …you’re wearing too much clothing.”

Brass had filled her enormous stand-alone tub (which really looked more like a hot tub than a bath tub) with hot water and turned on the Jacuzzi jets. There were rose petals scattered on top of the water, candles on the counter-tops, and bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in easy reach. A fluffy towel, Catherine’s favorite slinky, silky negligee and Jim’s pajama bottoms were neatly folded on the counter.

“Mmm, what’s all this for?” Catherine asked, letting Brass slide her slacks down her legs and then lift her to sit on the edge of the tub.  

“Helping you relax,” he replied, lifting her shirt over her head and taking advantage of its absence to kiss her collarbone. “Your day … how did you put it? … oh, yeah, it fucking sucked.” His big hands moved up and down her back, unsnapping her bra, tossing it aside, urging her closer. Catherine wrapped her legs around his waist and met his mouth with her own.

“It’s getting better,” she murmured, running her fingers into his hair. “By the second, actually.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He kissed her shoulder, grazing his teeth lightly over her skin. “I’m about to make it a lot better.”

Catherine thrust her hips against his, fingers fumbling for the towel that was keeping her from him. “Is it because you’re planning on fucking me senseless?”

He growled low in his throat and pulled her up against him. “You’re making it hard for me not to. Especially when you talk like that. All I was planning was a hot bath and a back rub. Thought you’d be too tired for anything else.”

“I was,” she said, grasping and starting to work the length of him with her fingers. “Until I felt how hard you are. And now all I want is you inside me.”

“Christ, Catherine,” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward of their own accord. “You’re going to burn me up.” He slid his fingers inside her, turned on by how hot and wet she was all ready. “How’d I get you so wet, baby?” he asked, stroking her rhythmically. “Tell me so I can do it every time we make love.”

“You always make me wet,” she murmured, her hips starting to jerk under his ministrations. “Your mouth on my neck, your hands on my body, feeling you get so hard and hot for me … makes me want to fuck you so hard for so long.” She moaned as his fingers moved faster. “God, you feel good, Jim. So good inside me.” She ground against his fingers. “Harder.”

Brass groaned. “I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Oh, Jesus, Cath, I want you right now.”

She raised her hips, grasped him, guided him, and he thrust into her with a muffled curse, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder.

He’d been with Catherine long enough to know when she was close and this wasn’t going to be one of those nights when he had to work to get her off. She was quivering, making small helpless noises in the back of her throat. All it took was a half dozen deep thrusts and she was arching against him, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Jim! Oh, fuck!”

He found his release hard on the heels of hers, his hips jerking, curses dropping from his lips as he fought to keep from digging his fingers too hard into her sides. “Sweet Jesus, Catherine!” He pumped his hips, spilled into her, panted her name into her neck.

It took them both several minutes to recover. Jim found his legs were too shaky to hold him, so he sank onto the tile floor, pulling a towel with him to wipe his sweating face. Catherine followed, melting onto his lap and leaning her forehead against the curve of his neck, breathing hard.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, stroking her hair with an unsteady hand. “Did I work you too hard?”

Catherine raised her head and gave him an exhausted grin. “I’m ready for that nap now.”

He laughed. “You’re not the only one. Come relax in the hot water for a few minutes. I’ll wash your hair for you and rub your shoulders. Then we can both tumble into bed. Sound like a plan?”

“Mmm, best plan ever,” Catherine murmured. “But here’s a better one.”

“What’s that?” He kissed the curve of her shoulder.

“Every Monday night is a bath night.”

END.


End file.
